Taller Children
by Urchin of the Riding Stars
Summary: Blaine Anderson has dissociative identity disorder, and among his personalities is a sociopath as obsessed with Kurt as he is with murdering people. Torn between terror for the people around them and for his tenderhearted boyfriend, Kurt is forced to confront exactly how far he'll go for love. Klaine AU.
1. Chapter 1

**So in this AU, Blaine and Kurt meet at NYADA (similar to how Adam and Kurt met.) Sebastian is Kurt's salty ex.**

 **I always wanted to write a story about DID. I'm sorry if it's faulty; I did some research, though am by no means a professional. Trigger warnings for angst, mental illness, implied violence and murder.**

 **The story name comes from the song "Taller Children," by Elizabeth & The Catapult. **

* * *

_**So you think you know**_  
 _ **Think you know, think you know better?**_  
 _ **Is it just because, just because**_  
 _ **You're older and wiser?**_  
 _ **Don't you know, Don't you know**_  
 _ **You don't get smarter?**_  
 _ **You're the same as you started**_  
 _ **You just jump a little higher**_

 _ **-O-**_

 ** _(In the end, we're all just taller children_**

 ** _Just taller children_**

* * *

When Blaine wakes, there's a brown-red glare of sunlight beneath closed eyes.

Even with this prodding he only he turns over, inhaling the familiar scents of sandalwood and gardenia: Kurt's cologne. His arms reflexively reach out to pull a sculpted body closer to him, but there's only empty air, and a slightly-still warm place on the bed. Blaine's brown eyes open, and he slowly props himself up on an elbow, frowning blearily. Despite the fact that he's perfectly comfortable, there's an innate sense of _wrongness_ permeating him and he's not certain _why._

He hears faint crackling and sizzling from the kitchen stove, smells the warm, smoky drafts of pancakes and the more acrid coffee scents. There's also the comforting _wum, wum, wum_ emanating from the laundry machine.

Still half-asleep, clad in boxers and a white shirt, Blaine stumbles out of bed to the kitchen with a sigh. Sure enough, there's Kurt's smaller and paler form, carefully turning over two pancakes before stirring a frying pan filled with egg whites.

He smiles, eyes warm as they narrow at the ends; the apartment smells like a home. For a moment he leans against the doorway to watch, and then pads behind Kurt to wrap his arms around his waist. Kurt seizes up, drops his spatula and whirs around with wide eyes. Blaine steps back apologetically, though his hands frame Kurt's hips. "Morning, lovely." He smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry; I know I said I'd cook today. But I'll handle lunch."

Still stiff, Kurt stares at him like a star-struck deer. To Blaine's surprise, there are shadows ghosting underneath his large eyes. The pink lips form a smile, albeit a tremulous one, and he sizes his boyfriend up carefully.

"Blaine?" It's a question and suddenly Blaine's dark brows disappear into his hairline; his hands fly for Kurt's shoulders. He backs Kurt away from the stove.

"What happened." It's not a question; it's a plea.

Kurt looks away. Blaine shakes his shoulders, his self-consuming mind clouding dark and hot with fear. "Honey. Please, tell me. Whom was it?"

Kurt still can't meet his gaze and Adam Blaine tilts his chin up. Most unwillingly, green eyes meet intently fixed brown.

"I don't…remember going to bed." His brow furrows as he desperately racks his brains for memories of the previous day. "I don't remember anything past…past three." He had been running errands in the city and was trotting briskly down the subway steps, trying to think of that day's revision of a musical number and instead remembering the night before at the bar, when a tearful Sebastian staggered towards them…

"What happened." It's still coming out as a statement.

Kurt drapes his arms around him and Blaine clutches him for dear life. Kurt pulls back with a weary smile, looking pointedly over his shoulder at the stove.

"Why don't you eat first and then we'll talk."

"Kurt _, please."_ Blaine begs, and he's wonders wildly if he should drop to his knees and grovel. The idea has its merits.

"It was nothing bad, I promise."

"Then why won't you tell me? Was it the same as last time?" Blaine seldom swore, but he did under his breath. "Oh my God, did he— _please,"_ the plea comes out in a dry sob. Kurt quietly switches the stove dials to off, and the sympathy and pain in his eyes is almost more than Blaine can stand, so much more than he deserves, not when Kurt in all likelihood should be glowering daggers and broken glass at him before racing out of the apartment. And burning it down behind him.

"Sit down, lovey. I'll get us some coffee."

Blaine doesn't quite have feeling in his legs, so Kurt gently steers him to the table and pushes him down into a seat. Kurt pours into chipped mugs for them both—adding a generous dallop of creamer and honey in Blaine's as always and a lump swells so painfully his windpipe he can scarcely breathe.

Kurt sits down and pushes the hot drink across the table. Blaine's fingers wrap around it and while they ought to be burning, he's lost all feeling in them.

"Was it like last time?"

-O-

 _Two months earlier_

The rain was pattering on the roof like so many marching feet, the world applauding your decision to stay inside.

Scrunching up his face unhappily at his phone's alarm, Blaine turned it off and shifted over in bed, finding Kurt already awake and looking at him, a faint blush coloring his face. "Hey," he said softly. Blaine grinned broadly.

"Hey yourself." He pecked Kurt's nose and the latter snorted affectionately, propping his cheek in his hand.

"Last night, you…" He shook his head incredulously. "I've never seen that side of you before. Not that I mind, I _definitely_ didn't mind, but…" He trailed off and shrugged, eyes twinkling. "You never yet fail to surprise me, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine's smile dimmed a little, and he looked a bit puzzled. Suddenly he went very hot, than very cold, mind churning. He sat up at once, covers tumbling off. "Oh _no._

"What happened?" he inquired sharply. "I don't remember—I was at the library—did I hurt you?"

"Hey," Kurt said gently, sitting up and gripping his boyfriend's arm. "What do you…"

"I don't remember," Blaine said lowly, voice escalating, panic brightening his eyes. "I don't _remember,_ Kurt, no—"The younger man looked bemused as Adam fumbled for the time he'd fell from. "I was at the NYADA library, looking for videos…what time was it? I think it was around four, and you'd texted me, and then…" He looked down at Kurt, and his chest began heaving. "I don't remember anything."

"….nothing? Blaine, were you drunk? I thought you said you didn't like drinking."

"I don't." Blaine hugged his knees, staring at the wall without really seeing it. "It's too risky."

"Risky why?" Kurt demanded, sitting up with a frown. "You've…you've never had a drinking problem, have you?"

"NO!"

Kurt jerked away as if he'd been stung; Blaine seldom raised his voice, and that was a cry. Still breathing rapidly, Blaine shook his head frantically.

"I swear to you, I've never liked the taste of alcohol and I've never even been drunk." A bitter laugh. "It would almost be better if I _were_ a drunk, that you can fix, but I can't _remember and I was with you_ —

"Oh," Blaine's fingers curled in his darkish wavy hair. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

"Shhh." Kurt's bare arms wrapped around Blaine's mid-section. "You didn't have to _force_ me, I promise. Even if you were a bit…" He tilted his head back and forth. " _Friskier_ than usual, it was fun.

"Wait." He drew back, Blaine gaping at him with a wild, hunted look. "You say you don't remember." His hands clutched the comforter. "If you weren't drinking, and you didn't smell like it, were you…were you _on_ anything?"

"No. Never. I promise you. The hardest drug I've ever been on is chocolate." The smallest twitch at the corner of his lips. "And you."

"But I _still_ don't understand why you wouldn't—"

"Get your clothes," Blaine said abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed before striding over to the large closet (something Kurt insisted upon when they'd looked for a home together.) "We have to go."

"What?" Kurt squawked as Adam flung on a t-shirt and small jacket, buttoning it unevenly. "What is this about? It's eight in the morning!"

"I have to explain something to you." Blaine said, pulling on a pair of dark jeans. "And if I try explaining here, I _promise_ you won't believe me. You'll think me loony if you don't already." He threw an imploring look over at Kurt as the shorter man gawked at him. "And something could happen if I tell you here, and I don't want that, Kurt. I don't. We have to head into the city now. _Please_ come with me."

Kurt had clearly been about to argue about his early morning showering and skin-care routine, but Blaine's expression muted him for a moment. When he spoke, it was low. "Sweetie? Sweetheart, you're scaring me."

"I know. I'm sorry. You might not be nearly scared enough. But I owe this to you. I owed it to you a long time ago." Blaine ran a few careless brush-swipes through his hair. "Do you trust me?"

Kurt tentatively got out of bed, pulling creamy blankets with him. "Of course." Blaine was already squeezing on his shoes, nearly putting them on the wrong feet in his haste. "But whatever it is you have to tell me you can say it here. I promise I'll hear you out, unless you're about to tell me you were abducted by aliens. I'll make coffee. Or we can go out for breakfast if you want."

Blaine shook his head, and when he spoke again sounded exhausted.

"I'd love to, dear heart, there's nothing I'd like more, and that's another problem. If I don't do this _now,_ I'm not going to want to later, not when I have time to consider, and I don't trust myself not to give into temptation."

"Is it…something I did?"

 _"No."_ A sad attempt at a smile as Blaine shoved his beanie on, strode across the room and took Blaine's hands in his, kissed one. "I promise you." He closed his eyes. "Kurt, I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry. I thought I had everything under control, I swear."

"Blaine, what you did last night wasn't assault!" Kurt exclaimed, voice spiked with exasperation. "Okay, maybe it _would've_ been if I couldn't give consent or I told you to knock it off. But that wasn't the case."

"That's not what I mean. Well, not just that.

"If you trust me," he said, and he cupped Kurt's face. Blaine's normally warm, soft eyes were now actively drilling holes into Kurt's.

"Come with me right now. If not," He hesitated. "It could happen again, and you won't _understand,_ and I may not be able to tell you. Not for a long, long time, even if I wanted to." Blaine's voice cracked and he sounded very near tears.

A statue where he stood, Kurt stared at him uncomprehendingly, and at last, against all his better judgment, nodded fervently.

He could not have been more shocked if a burglar broke in and struck him over the head with a machete; this was so utterly unlike Blaine he wondered if he'd stumbled into a nightmare. But Blaine's trembling hands were all too solid.

Blaine inhaled, let out his breath in a short puff as he pressed his forehead against Kurt's. He kissed him hard, and at last let him go. "Get changed; I hate to rush you, but I'm going to have to ask you to pick something easy to slip on today. I'll go toast bagels for us to eat on the way." He rushed to the door, and then came to an abrupt halt, turning on his heel like a dervish.

"Love, I adore you." His voice was so small and tender it made Kurt's heart ache. "So much. That's why I'll let them _help_ explain."

"Wha—here's an idea: _Why_ not tell me who 'they' are? This is like the start of some… _weird, fucking spy movie,_ Blaine _!"_ It was beginning to feel like a horror flick, and there was no script to be had.

"More like a tragicomedy. We're going to meet my doctors. That I can tell you."

He drooped against the wall. "But while I know in all likelihood you're going to leave me today, I want you to at least be able to believe me." He turned his sober face to the floor, crossing his arms. "I deserve it, I absolutely had this coming, but I can't bear to have you think of me as a liar. Not—"

"Enough," Kurt snapped, though there was a frantic and painful chord just the same. "Stop martyring yourself for now and let me be the judge of this. Although if you try leading me to some abandoned building or…or secret lair—or scientology center…do _not_ drag me to a Catholic church and tell me you need an exorcist—"

The corner of Blaine's mouth twisted, and he seemed downright ironical. "No, dear. We're visiting an office in a skyscraper in the heart of Manhattan. Very reputable, I promise you—the most of its kind in New York, as a matter of fact. "

Kurt hesitated. "Now this sounds like one of the Avengers movies Sam and Finn made me watch. Please tell me that you're not actively on the run from some evil government."

"I wish," said Blaine ruefully. "That at least makes me look cool. But we should be in time to catch the 8:45 if we hurry. Just let me make a quick phone call."

And he left the room, leaving Kurt blinking stupidly in his wake.

Heart hammering, mouth like cotton, he slowly sank onto the bed, pressed his fingers against his lips. He and Adam always liked easing into their day; it was part of their routine ever since they'd moved in together a year ago. _Transitioning to the next phase of lesbianhood,_ Santana had teased before gifting them with a blender.

A junior at NYADA, Kurt had classes during the day but he and Blaine worked well into the night. Upon graduating Blaine had received a paid internship on Broadway as a choreographer for _Wicked,_ and Kurt had snagged a leading role in a revised _Hamilton_ performance.

When they staggered back home at night tired but happy neither of them were very talkative. And so they basked in the pleasure of being quiet with each other while cuddling on the sofa reading or watching TV. But mornings were full of gentle jokes, and they enjoyed a home-cooked meal together (they were normally too tired to cook much at night) and chattered about their work that day. Kurt fell back against the bed.

Of course, that was the least of his problems right now. The love of his life was acting erratic and possibly insane— _how could he not remember anything_? If not on drugs or alcohol, and Kurt knew innately Blaine wasn't, what in the world was the problem and why didn't Adam confide in him earlier? The fact that Blaine felt that he'd had to hide something from him smarted harshly.

Maybe Adam was…schizophrenic? No, he was fairly certain that didn't involve amnesia, and Kurt would've noticed by now. The only other possibility was…short-term memory loss? Well, that had been something in _Finding Dory,_ but he sorely doubted that was an actual thing.

But Blaine could not be deranged or dangerous. Kurt wasn't certain if that were his heart or head talking. It felt rather as if the affirmations came from his gut. _That's the organ you gotta trust the most, kiddo,_ his father had always advised.

He hurried to the wardrobe, and tugged on a long sweater, one of the few he'd allowed himself to keep after…after _that_ whole mess had started, but Blaine said he had nothing to do with that, and Kurt believed him.

After he pulled on a pair of leggings and boots, mourning the loss of his skin care routine and shower (though he had the night before) he rapidly brushed his hair and teeth. He grabbed his bag and made a beeline for the door, sliding to a stop and pricking his ears when he heard the muffled sound of Blaine talking:

"—so—" Unintelligible. "Yes. I…your giving me your home phone….yes." Kurt opened the door just a crack, easing into the hall. Blaine was in the kitchen.

"No _harm_ done, at least not that I know of, but he might….no…..yes. Um," he said awkwardly, and Kurt could picture him placing a hand behind his head, the way he did when Blaine was sheepish or embarrassed. "S-some….no, I don't….some behavior. Um, y-yes. No details." A pause. "No." Kurt silently approached the kitchen, saw Blaine's back turned toward him.

"No again. I _know_ —" He gripped his hair. "But things had been going so well, I bought…" A sigh, and his shoulders sagged. "I just wanted so badly to believe this was done and that I could move on, that all of us could move on—"

Blaine suddenly turned, glimpsed Kurt staring at him. Hangdog, his eyes flickered.

"If you don't mind opening early…we'll be there. I'm sorry again." He listened, and his mouth twitched again. "Still. But we'll see you soon. Thank you. Bye."

Avoiding eye contact, Blaine hung up, grabbed the two bagels which popped from the toaster, and messily smeared them both with more peanut butter than he necessary needed to. He wrapped a napkin around one and thrust it into Kurt's hand, pouring them both coffee—Kurt was profoundly relieved he'd set the machine to brew the night before.

Blaine hissed and cursed as he spilled some on his hand. As he dumped creamer in them both, Kurt frowned and put his hands on his hips.

"You do know I have History of Modern and Post-Modern Theater at ten today, right? Are we going to make it back in time?"

"You're sick today," said Blaine, attempting to sound flippant as he pushed a mug in Kurt's hands, which he reluctantly took. "Very sick. Just email your professor for the assignment, and ask Rachel for notes."

Kurt looked down into his coffee. Only the fact that he was utterly nonfunctioning without coffee in the morning made him take a few sips, though his stomach was turning itself over in somersaults. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't alarmed."

"I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't too," said Blaine apologetically, taking a few swigs of coffee. "You should eat now, love."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know if you'll feel like it later on and you need something in your stomach."

 _That_ didn't sound reassuring in the least, and Kurt wasn't the least bit hungry now, but he reluctantly obeyed, murmuring "You need to, too." Blaine silently complied, and it was terribly awkward, both of them forcing down something that seemed tasteless.

When they'd finished—how Kurt hated eating fast, it seemed like a solid method to tear your intestines apart— Blaine took his hand, and in a moment was kissing him passionately, their gentle touch quickly devolving into a much rougher tempo as Kurt clutched him and kissed back _hard_ , as much from anxiety as from affection.

Blaine pulled back just as Kurt's eyes slipped shut, their lips separating with a slight _pop._ Adam smiled, sweet and a little bit sad. "I wanted to do that one last time.

"Here," he said, pressing his phone into Kurt's hand. "If you notice me start acting… _strangely_ on the way, just call the first number on my dial history. Tell them I need help. They'll know what to do."

That wasn't at all perturbing.

Then he pulled Kurt out the door, and it was all the latter could do to lock it before they thundered down the stairs.

-O-

Kurt considered his boyfriend as the metro sped through graffiti-covered tunnels, dirty windows reflecting Blaine Blaine's most-uncharacteristically gaunt expression. The two were standing, and Kurt didn't even need to clutch one of the rings swinging from the ceiling— Blaine had a death-grip on one and one arm looped around Kurt's waist to hold him steady. Part of Kurt was now so irritated that he'd like to push it away, but he was ultimately grateful, because his head whirred in sickening loops. He had to choke his bagel back down.

Blaine's hold on him was gentle, but there was an ominous note of _finality_ in the air that had Kurt keeping a hand over Adam's to keep it there.

Earlier Blaine had offered his seat to a pregnant woman and Kurt stood with him, listening to the grateful lady calling them sweet boys as she put her feet up. Criminals or criminally-insane people couldn't be sweet boys.

Could they? Kurt let his head droop against Blaine's shoulder. _Do you trust me?_ He had asked, and while this seemed a prelude to a murder mystery television special, the answer was still an unequivocal _yes._

But what was so terrible that Blaine was afraid to tell Kurt without witnesses first?

They ascended from the subway, and walked a few blocks uptown until Blaine led Kurt to a colossal skyscraper, showing a pass to the doorman at the glass doors. "Haven't seen you around in a while," the man remarked airily, jerking a thumb at the glossy lobby. Blaine dipped his head and gave Kurt a reassuring look, although Kurt wasn't very reassured.

"So…this is a hospital?" He asked skeptically as the woman at the front desk waved Blaine along as they headed to the elevators, passing large ferns and a bubbling fountain. "You said we were going to meet doctors."

"They are, but this particular building is sublet by specialists, mainly."

"In….?"

The doors slid open, and the two boarded Kurt not without tasting his heart.

"All sorts of things: Child psychiatry, autism, cancer, diabetes, sickle-cell anemia, heart disease, post-traumatic stress disorder, osteoporosis….these people are considered authorities in their specific fields with what they've contributed with research. These are people whom normally have waiting lists the size of books with the demand they get."

"….and one of these 'authorities' just happened to give you their number and seemed basically on-call for you?"

"Well, two, actually, there are two people we're meeting today. No, dear, I'm nothing and no one really…special, just _abnormal_. This field is still budding, and I'm…one of very few _confirmed_ cases." Blaine scuffed at the carpet. "Considering how much skepticism and ridicule their department is subject to, they've been more than happy to work with me." Blaine's tone suggested the feeling wasn't mutual. Kurt automatically hugged him.

"You are something. You are special. In a good way. Whatever happens today, I want you to know I love you."

"I love you too," Blaine said, punctuating the words with a kiss on Kurt's head. He looked wistful.

"I'm going to yell at you if I find out this is an over-reaction of a lifetime, but I can't pretend I won't be relieved."

"I think you're going to yell at me regardless. And I can't say I won't deserve it."

The doors neatly slid open with a chime, and Blaine slowly set out, face set. Kurt tentatively followed him down a hall of doors with numbers and surnames, but nothing else.

At last they stopped at a door marked _Katz, Roberts_ and of course it was marked 13. What an auspicious start to the day. Kurt had never missed a day on Broadway, but now he was wondering if it might be worth letting his understudy take over for the evening.

Blaine opened the door to a comfortable-looking sitting room, where two people with coffee mugs were sitting on a sofa, in the middle of discussion. They looked up as they entered and smiled, standing to greet them. One was a short, balding man with a prominent, crooked nose and gentle eyes, and the other was a pleasant-faced young woman with long dark hair tied back into a braid.

"Hello, Blaine." The man offered his hand. "How are you?"

"About the same as I usually am when I need your help," Blaine said apologetically, and the man nodded sympathetically. He turned to Kurt.

"I'm Dr. Roberts. And you must be Mr. Hummel." Kurt nearly turned reflexively as they shook hands, half-expecting his father. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Blaine dotes on you like the last grace of the earth." Kurt blinked, trying to think of something to say that was both honest and not-stupid. Reddening, Blaine gestured to the woman, whom shook Kurt's hand enthusiastically. "Dr. Katz. Thank you for meeting so early in the morning. "

"Just Katz is fine," she assured him, flashing a brilliant smile at Kurt. "And this is Kurt! It's so good to finally meet you. Blaine speaks of you all the time, and so highly!"

"I—thank you so, so much, um—"

"I watched a YouTube video of your performance at the NYADA winter showcase," She shook her head, eyes alight with playful envy. "Utterly remarkable. Do you know how many hits that clip has?"

Kurt smiled in spite of himself. "It's very nice to meet you, too. Um." He shuffled his feet and looked back at Blaine. "I've never heard of you before today."

Dr. Katz didn't say _'I told you so'_ directly, but the glance she gave Blaine said it for her. Blaine colored more darkly from his roots to his chin, looking as if he were mentally attempting to vanish.

"Blaine asked me to come along with him this morning. I'm not entirely sure _why,_ but he says he can't remember last night and seems really scared. Okay, now can someone _please_ explain to me what's going on? I'm on the verge of tearing my hair out, and I spend a long, _long_ time on it."

The doctors hesitated; Blaine spoke up, voice dull:

"You have my permission to tell him everything." He met Kurt's gaze. "I wanted to tell you myself, I _wanted_ to, but I was afraid…just speaking of it might trigger it again, and I just wanted it to go _away_. And I was terrified you'd run away thinking I'm a lunatic." He snorted depreciatively. "It's not terribly-far off, really."

"Blaine," said Dr. Roberts reprovingly. "We've talked about this. You're a good, intelligent, loving man. This is not your fault. What happened to you _is not your fault_."

Blaine's hands curled into shaking fists. Dr. Roberts sighed, produced a stress ball from his pocket and handed it to Blaine, whom took it reluctantly. "Easy on those palms now.

"Please sit down," he gently encouraged, and Kurt and Blaine slowly obeyed, settling into the sofa together. Dr. Roberts and Katz settled themselves into plush armchairs.

"Now we've been working with Blaine for a few years now—ever since he left Romania to attend school here. His former specialists reviewed his case intensively with us." He gestured to a fat binder on the coffee table with _Anderson, Blaine_ written on its spine.

"You see Kurt, Blaine has what the psychiatric community calls dissociative identity disorder." Said Katz calmly, previous humor drained from her face. "Previously known as multiple personality disorder.

"This condition develops when a young mind creates different personas in order to cope in…difficult situations. These constructed beings often have drastically different temperaments than the primary individual, often reactive personalities to a certain environment." Kurt couldn't breathe. "When a character takes over, it's essentially as if someone else is in control in Blaine's body. Blaine himself loses his agency and lapses into an unconscious state, unable to recall his actions until his other personalities give him back control and consciousness.

"How we verified that this was a genuine case was when Blaine was hooked up to an Electroencephalography machine—triple point word in Scrabble, by the way—or EEG. This method uses electrodes from the brain to create visual wavelength patterns." She looked at Kurt's face, waited a long moment. No recovery. "And when we induced his other personalities, the length charts created each time were drastically apposite. Essentially belonging to different people."

Blaine was staring at his entwined hands. Kurt's mouth was moving silently, but at last came out the words, "Oh God. _Oh God."_

"Kurt." Said Dr. Roberts, half-rising from his seat. "Do you need some water? Do you need help?"

Kurt shook his head, but not in response to Dr. Roberts. Eyes tearing, still not breathing, he turned to Blaine, vision hazing. His voice came out ridiculously small. "Blaine ….?"

"I know you didn't sign up to be in a relationship with more than one person," Blaine said, voice pierced with emotion. "I am so sorry. I truly thought it was gone and I never wanted anything as badly as I wanted to be with you." His face screwed up and he put his fist to his lips, trying to bite back sobs. "But it's no excuse." He looked so ashamed; it was good this room did not have windows, else Blaine would likely be tossing himself out one.

Stunned, Kurt sank back against the sofa. Dimly he thought he should be angry, he really ought to be, but he was so utterly unprepared he couldn't understand how to think, or what to feel. In all the preposterous explanations he had imagined, this hadn't been one of them.

"I've heard of…Sybil, in my high school psychiatry class," Kurt faltered. "We watched the movie. But I wasn't certain this was actually real or not."

"It is. What's incredible about young children is their survival instinct is so…" Dr. Roberts tilted his head and thought a moment. "Intensive. Primal. Young children don't have fully-developed moral compasses that keep this instinct in check. The budding subconscious really only has _survival_ in mind, and when dealt trauma that it's unprepared to deal with, defense mechanisms are employed. Sometimes it can suppress threatening memories altogether."

"A child's mind is much more versatile than an adult's." Katz added. "And it can create other beings prepared to bear burdens a child couldn't handle himself, or serve other purposes.

"The problem is, early childhood development is a decisive, very critical period for a person's future mental and emotional growth. When raised in a volatile environment, children can suffer problems that can be intractable in adulthood. And while Blaine may no longer require what his alter egos were created for, it's too late now." Katz threw Blaine a concerned glance as the boy hugged his knees, eyes screwed shut with misery. "That isn't to say we haven't tried integrating his multifaceted personalities."

"And that was…that was another personality last night." Said Kurt cautiously, blushing again slightly as he remembered.

"It hasn't happened for months." Blaine murmured, opening his eyes. "I don't know what triggered it. But I don't remember anything past four," He said, looking at Dr. Roberts as the man made a note on a nearby clipboard. "And when I woke up at our home…I couldn't recall going there." He hunched over in his seat like a child at the principal's office. "And Kurt said I'd…acted differently last night." He sighed. "I think I can guess whom _that_ was."

"…how many personalities do you have?"

"Just two others." Said Dr. Roberts. Kurt had to avoid flinching. 'Just' two? Wasn't having one extra intrusive enough? "Other people with DID have had many, many more personalities at hand, so we see this as a good sign. There were actually three at some point, but we don't really see Viktor appear any more. We believe he more or less merged with Emily—"

 _One of Blaine's personalities is a girl?_

"—and both of them served more or less as Blaine's 'secret-keepers.' Memory suppression, mainly."

Suddenly Kurt remembered Sybil's mother, and nearly sank to his knees. "It's trauma that causes this, isn't it?" he asked Blaine frantically, and the young man began to look quite sick. "Serious trauma? Something…something along the lines of _torture,_ right?"

Blaine pressed his lips so tightly they were white. A trickle of blood ran down his chin. Kurt seized his rigid form and shook him.

"Babe, stop that! _Please._ Who hurt you?"

Katz spoke up gently: "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you not to probe the circumstances any further, Kurt. Alek is fiercely protective of Blaine and Emily, and when you probe too deeply, he comes with claws out."

"…Alek?"

"Trust me, I know Alek," said Dr. Roberts ruefully, gesturing at his crooked nose. "I am still talking to Blaine, right?"

"Yes," Adam choked out, burying his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry."

Blaine uneasily drew away from Kurt, and he desperately wanted to embrace him, but Blaine didn't look like he welcomed contact at the moment.

"What is…Alek like?" he asked hesitantly, looking at the physicians. "I saw…a glimpse of him last night." He wrung his hands. "Um, this doesn't count as cheating, does it? You know how I feel about that."

"No," Blaine choked out in a strangled laugh. "No, I promise you it doesn't."

"Well, we know Blaine s other personalities are fond of you, Kurt." Said Roberts kindly. "Though Alek has made it quite clear he'd like to strangle me with my own stethoscope." He flicked his eyes to the ceiling. "Though I'm not that kind of doctor. And when I get too close he often appears to tell me where I can shove it in no uncertain terms. He's not particularly delighted by Katz either; the fact that she's a woman doesn't deter him from shooting his dirty mouth off."

Kurt's jaw dropped. The most Blaine normally came to cussing was _'Oh dear.'_

"What does…Emily say about me?" It was ridiculous, but he suddenly remembered meeting Blaine's relatives for the first time that summer they'd spent in Romania; he'd felt the same eagerness to make a good impression then as he did now. Which was utterly ridiculous, but true nonetheless.

"Emily is a bit shy, with emotional development of about five years of age. She likes to change her name quite a lot, but always forgets the new one. I think she has a bit of a school girl crush on you. She usually prefers talking to me over Roberts, because _'boys are yuck,'"_ quoted Katz with a small smile. "When I asked her about you, she got quite fidgety and said, _'Well, Kurt isn't yuck, because he smells nice and sings.'"_

She opened the file and to Kurt's surprise there were crayon-scribbled pictures inside. Katz offered some of them to Kurt, whom took them as carefully as if they might explode any moment. Blaine groaned, likely watching from beneath his fingers.

To Kurt's relief there were no pictures of gore or dead animals. There were towering rectangles, filled with boxes—skyscrapers, rainbows, lots of those—lots of trees surrounding a…bench, yes, that was a bench, smiling suns, music notes and very blocky, awkward pictures of unicorns judging by the sticks protruding from their heads, animals, mostly smiling cats. There were numerous drawings of a little blond girl dressed in white with a stethoscope and a box with a red cross on it. Kurt flipped through them to find a picture of a smiling brown-haired young man sitting beside a little girl at a little table. There were clumsy music notes and hearts drawn overhead, and as Kurt studied the figures carefully, he recognized the outfit—one of his silvery-blue go-to winter compositions.

"…..me? And….who…the girl…."

"This is how she sees herself," said Katz quietly. "She cannot be convinced otherwise. And she's frozen in time; she's never aged emotionally."

Swallowing, Kurt uneasily considered Blaine. "I never did… anything inappropriate to Emily, did I?" Even though Blaine was of age, the idea that he could've harmed a very young part facet of his mind was profoundly disturbing.

"No. You'd know if she were there, and she never shows her face during…adult moments," Blaine murmured, wearily drawing his hands down. "This was the first time I couldn't remember…making love to you." Kurt slipped a little deeper in his seat. Did they have to discuss in front of other people?

"When we question her about the trio's past, she gets very nervous the moment you mention…anything of a sexual nature," said Roberts heavily. "These are things she'll only discuss with Katz. I believed she worried I was making advances because I'm a man."

"Or a facsimile of one," said Blaine, his voice dropping to a much lower register. "Seriously, your wife has more dick in her personality than you ever did in your pants. My guess is that you're both lesbians."

Appalled, Kurt felt his nails sink deeper into his palms; Roberts warily considered the olive-skinned man, tensing in his seat.

"Whom am I talking to now?" he asked, though it seemed as if he already had a fairly good idea.

"The president, you fuckhole fucktwit."

He crossed his legs and thrust his arms over the sofa top, smirking. He turned to Kurt and winked; the boy automatically scooted farther away, eyes overlarge. Roberts crossed his arms.

"Alek."

 _"'Alek,'"_ mocked the young man. "No 'hello' or 'top of the day to you, Robbie my boy?' I'm so hurt. Just because your lezzie household must suck fuck doesn't mean you have to take your marital problems out on me."

Roberts cringed, looking as if he'd been asked to drink poison. "I pushed too far."

 _"'I pushed too far,'_ Alek simpered, batting his eyes coquettishly. "Bet your dad said that when he pissed in your mom." He frowned as he looked around the room, shaking his head. "Fuck me slowly with a chainsaw, but the décor in here is still shit. Roberts, you should consider borrowing some money from your Mom's bedside table for a decorator—every john leaves a buck, after all."

He leered at a thunderstruck Kurt, sliding over to him.

"Don't listen to him, _darling._ He basically got a degree in advanced coloring because his rich father played tennis with another rich father. I should've taken over earlier so we could've avoided this shit shack whorehouse altogether, but I was curious to see what you'd do when old sphincter socket and fuck noodle told you the truth. Can you guess who is who?"

"…Alek." The unfamiliar name started at the front of Kurt's mouth, and the ended at the back of his throat. "…ah. Um. Can you….I don't…can you please…switch back to Blaine?"

Alek's cold eyes—how could Blaine's eyes be reduced to a pair of dark electric marbles stuffed into sockets?—narrowed. "What's wrong with me?"

"N-nothing. But Blaine is my—"

Kurt could say no more; Blaine seized his chin in a tight hold, thumb gripping his jaw tightly. Kurt immediately thrust a hand on the man's chest, but Alek's hand chased his and grasped Kurt's tightly, keeping it planted over Blaine's heart. Katz and Roberts scrambled up immediately.

"Alek, _let go."_

"Ah-ah-ah, Little Miss Carnation Instant Bitch," said Alek, wagging his finger at Katz and _tsking_ disapprovingly. He turned back to Kurt, lip curling like smoke.

"We're a package deal, Kurt, and the sooner you accept that, the better." Kurt's eyes near-dilated as the fingers sank deeper into his flesh. "Blaine was all for letting you go, but I'm not dealing with the fallout shit. I have enough to worry about as it is."

Smirking, eyes glittering like a threat, he yanked Kurt onto his lap, slipping his lips to whisper hotly into his ear:

"Hello, kurty." His fingertips wandered to a hickey beneath Kurt's turtleneck, circling it. "Remember me?"

Kurt immediately shoved at him, but Alek seized his wrists, hands wrapping around them like manacles.

"Alek, you have until the count of three to let him go," warned Dr. Roberts, slowly withdrawing an injector from his pocket. "We reserve the right to sedate you if you don't release him.

"And I reserve the right to cut you if you don't shut up," Alek spat, but Kurt did manage to wrestle his way free, scurrying to the opposite side of the room as he rubbed his wrists. Alek rounded on him.

"Why so cold now, little bird? You seemed to like me _plenty_ last night, when I heaved you over my shoulder, threw you against the bed, held you down, and licked my way down to your—"

"Stop." Kurt pleaded, pressing his hands over his ears. _"Stop—"_

"Didn't recall you saying that last night, lovely." Alek drawled, sneering as Kurt drew further back, looking pointedly away. "Well, you did add a _'don't'_ in front of it."

Kurt thought he felt all his blood rush to his heart, draining his face of any color. And he might've tasted his heart again as he swayed, and Katz put a careful hand on his arm to steady him.

"Alek, I had really hoped I wouldn't have to bring you in today," Roberts said warningly. Alek rolled his eyes.

"I really hoped I wouldn't have to shatter your jaw. Alas that things cannot be precisely what we hoped."

Kurt remained frozen. He was looking at his boyfriend's body, but it was as if it'd become a marionette, puppetered by a complete stranger. That stranger addressed him again: "Blaine's such a fucking pansy, I'm surprised he doesn't have a cunt. He _is_ one, judging by the fact that he's so fucking _scared_ to actually do anything he doesn't realize he'd _like_ to do to you." Alek tsked again, lips curling into a-near sadistic smile.

He tapped his head teasingly. "Then again, it's my job to eat everything he's afraid of, which is a _considerable_ amount, I'll tell you, I'll have to go on Atkins—but something I don't particularly mind swallowing are all his repressed little fantasies. Blaine always learned in Jesus school and camp that sex is _bad,_ which is funny considering what—" Alek made a face and started over. "He's so ashamed of himself the only thing he likes to do is missionary, which is all well and good if you're a good little Puritan—"

"Alek," said Katz disapprovingly. "You're being inappropriate."

"And you're being a fuckstick," said Alek impatiently, flipping her the bird. "Fuck off, fuckstick. Blaine was so worried lately that he hadn't been giving old Kurty-Q what he wanted, so I stepped in. I take care of everyone. You ought to be grateful," he said, staring at Kurt with coldheartedness carved in every line in his hard features. Nothing like Blaine's warm expression—he always had a smile for Kurt, even at the end of an abysmal day.

"I've taken care of you plenty of times." He grinned saucily. "Remember all those little 'gifts' I kept leaving you? And to think you never sent me a thank-you card."

At first Kurt looked at him blankly, and then there was a hot, dark surge of realization. His mind automatically wiped itself clean, as if attempting to spare him.

And then came the panic. He almost fled then and there.

"The…the things on my doorstep…my st-stalker….that was…"

Alek smiled. It was not a nice smile. When he spoke again, the words had teeth.

"Yes, lovey. That was me."

* * *

-O-

 _When Kurt and Rachel still lived together, parcels began appearing neatly on their doormat. And none of these were ever post-marked._

 _To Kurt's amazement, there were designer hats, flowing scarves in every color of the rainbow, cashmere sweaters, Marc Jacob turtlenecks that cost more than what he'd make at a week in the diner. Broaches that sparkled, sunglasses in Michael Kors cases, once even a pair of Yves St. Laurent leather boots in his size. All of these were left with only notes reading 'K.'_

Kurt closed his eyes, and Katz patted his hand mumbling "It's okay, honey, it's okay," and other such lies. He had to sit down into Roberts' vacant seat and put his head between his knees, brow glistening in a cold sweat.

 _"You didn't tell me Blaine was rich!" Rachel squealed in excitement as Kurt lifted a knee-length Ann Taylor sweater from the tissue-paper with near-reverence. "And look at how much he adores you! I'm so jealous."_

 _"But he isn't wealthy," Kurt said bewilderedly, turning over the sweater and shivering. He'd squealed with delight upon opening the gift, but the initial high was wearing off into confusion. "Have you seen his apartment? There's literally only enough room in his bedroom for his bed. And ramen noodles and frozen vegetables are entire sections on his food pyramid." He turned over the sweater, watching sequins gleam like fish scales in the sunlight. "But it looks familiar. I know it does—I was practically swooning over this when I went window-shopping with Blaine."_

 _"Well, then it must be from him."_

 _"Again: If Blaine could afford this, he'd have a nicer wardrobe. I'd make sure of it."_

 _When Adam came by later that evening Kurt showed him the sweater. Blaine's brows disappeared into his bangs. "How in the world did you ever afford this? Don't get me wrong; you absolutely deserve something nice, Kurt. But the price made me die a little inside; please don't tell me you're forgoing food for fashion."_

 _"First of all, death before bad fashion." Kurt said crisply as Blaine laughed. He crossed his legs on the sofa and looked at Blaine closely. "But I swear to God, or to Gaga my goddess, it just appeared outside my door today. Did you…?"_

 _Blaine shook his head ruefully. "No. I wish I could have gotten it for you. But that's half my rent."_

 _He pressed his cheek against his palm, biting his lower lip. Blaine was a rotten liar; he'd only ever tried once, when unsuccessfully trying to convince his boyfriend_ no, _there wasn't anyone inside the Bushwick loft waiting to surprise him for his twentieth birthday. His boyish excitement had been palpable even as Blaine attempted a solemn expression. It'd been a deeply-amused Kurt put his key in the lock, bracing himself for the inevitable shrieks that awaited him._

 _"If not you, then…" Suddenly his eyes widened, and he groaned._

 _"Oh, no." He would have to give up the garment now, as a matter of principle. Kurt smacked his knee, bitterly disappointed. "Sebastian strikes again."_

 _"Are you sure?"_

 _His mouth twisted as he rolled his eyes. "Yes. Sebastian sent all kinds of gifts for weeks after he cheated on me. And he remembers what I like, but I sent everything back." He sighed, placing the sweater back in his box. "I guess he's taking it up again, now that he's enrolled in NYADA."_

 _Shortly after their breakup Sebastian 'happened' to transfer from NYU to NYADA, appearing in four of Kurt's five classes, much to the latter's supreme discomfort. He'd dearly like to believe Sebastian's knowing his class picks was a coincidence, but while Rachel pleaded innocence, the way she had avoided meeting Kurt's gaze when he confronted her suggested otherwise._

 _Sebastian claimed he was happy to remain friends with Kurt, but very frequently Kurt had felt his stare in class. When he whirred to give the boy a filthy look Seb's dark brown eyes usually swiveled away. But sometimes Sebastian only held his fixed gaze, which was worse. The intent behind those eyes was like a buck looking at a deer, and it was so profoundly annoying Kurt wondered if you could sue for sexual harassment by someone mentally undressing you_.

 _Now Kurt tried ignoring him altogether, but no amount of hissed demands as Sebastian casually sidled up to him in the halls in-between courses would make him stop: "I'm not looking at all. You're deflecting, Kurt—you're the one who seems to want to keep looking at_ me."

 _He was forever asking Kurt out for drinks—_ "Just drinks, Kurt, I swear," _—suggesting they check out a chic new tapas restaurant or jazz bar together. The one time Kurt agreed to meet him was at a club, and he'd brought Blaine along. There was maybe a little savage pleasure on Kurt's part as he and Blaine grinded together on the dance floor to_ Bad Romance _, and Sebastian watched from the bar, looking as if he'd been force-fed curdled milk._

 _"Why don't you keep it?" Blaine asked as Kurt carelessly tossed the sweater on the table. "I know how much you wanted it. If Sebastian wants to run his account dry for you, that doesn't mean you owe him anything."_

 _Kurt shook his head as he rejoined Blaine on the sofa, snuggling into the latter's neck as Blaine craned his head against his. "No, you don't know Seb. If I show up to class wearing that he's going to be smug, and if I give an inch he'll take a mile and insinuate that I owe him. It's disappointing; I thought the sweater was classy. But if he bought it for me, then I don't want it anymore."_

 _Blaine took his hand and hummed. "Would it be selfish of me to say that I'm glad? I want you to have nice things, because you_ are _a nice thing—" He laughed and kissed Kurt's hair as Kurt poked him in the ribs reprovingly. "—but I'd sooner they not come from that…"_

 _"Tool?"_

 _"That's putting it very kindly."_

 _The next day before Theater History Kurt thrust the sweater box into Sebastian's hands and snapped, "Keep it. And for the record, if you're stalking me,_ stop. _You can't buy me."_

 _Sebastian blinked, looking baffled as he opened the box. "But I didn't buy you anything. Did you want me to…?"_

 _"What did I just say?" Kurt demanded as he flounced back to his desk._

 _"But I didn't. I really didn't, Kurt." Sebastian sounded incredulous as he opened the box and poked the sweater. "Believe me."_

 _Kurt swung around, eyes flashing dangerously._

 _"Funnily enough, that's what you said when you promised you wouldn't shack up with anyone else. I couldn't take your word then, and I don't take it now."_

 _Thankfully Sebastian said nothing after that, though Kurt's back felt the boy's burning gaze as he strode out the door the moment their teacher dismissed everyone._

 _But another beautiful sweater was waiting three mornings later when Rachel went out to get the mail._

 _"Kurt," Sebastian pleaded when Kurt later thrust the bag onto the desk without so much as looking at him. "Why would I give you things if I didn't at least_ try _to claim credit? If I bought either of these fancy-ass sweaters with a five-figure price tag, you'd better believe I'd claim responsibility." Bitterness erupted like spiders spilling from Sebastian's throat. "What, is your Romanian boytoy not rich enough for you? Need a sugar daddy?"_

 _Slowly, very slowly, Kurt turned around, and his expression left Sebastian looking at least a little abashed as he became very interested in his_ A Streetcar Named Desire _playbook._

 _"Blaine," said Kurt softly, and he was mortified that there were tears in his voice. "Is poor. The fact that he's a foreign exchange student doesn't make him rich. It's just the opposite; he qualifies for food stamps with how little he earns. And he's still more infinitely worthwhile than you will ever be, Smythe, even if you won the lottery."_

 _He sat down, turned around. Kurt almost thought he could_ hear _Sebastian press his forehead against his folded arms, but it wasn't his problem. Scrubbing at smarting eyes, he opened his book and exhaled, not noticing the book was upside down._

 _The presents kept arriving, and Sebastian's roommates—their fellow classmates—pleaded his innocence. "Kurt, he hasn't been shopping. And nothing's come online for him, not recently. He didn't mail-order anything for you. I looked at his bank statements. Lots and lots of transactions like you wouldn't believe, but mo fancy designer stuff." Suddenly she hooted with glee. "Looks like you got yourself a secret admirer! Blaine better watch out!"_

 _That hadn't been exactly reassuring to Kurt, considering the last time he had a secret admirer it had literally been a stalker in a gorilla suit whom followed him everywhere and had once threatened to murder him._

 _To his growing concern torrents of lovely and expensive items kept coming, Louboutin boots to a Chanel handbag and Alexander McQueen sweaters so soft they felt like lambskin. It would be sweet, incredibly so if it weren't so frightening._

 _"Maybe some rich person at NYADA fell in love with Kurt," Rachel suggested one afternoon as Santana clamored through the growing pile of stuff, impatiently flinging merchandise in all directions. "And they're too shy to tell him so directly, so they keep leaving him presents! I think it's romantic."_

 _Santana's glare was deepening by the moment as she dug through the growing mound of Kurt's gifts. While her expression softened slightly as she picked up a Coco Chanel bag and turned the glossy leather over in her hands, she impatiently tossed it over to Kurt, whom just barely caught it in his fingertips in his surprise. Santana stood up, hands on her hips. Her frown looked only contained the slightest bit of grudging jealousy; when she looked up at Kurt she almost seemed_ concerned _—if Santana Lopez were capable of being concerned._

 _"Okay, Hummel-bee, you're going to want to toss these in the dumpster stat." She cast a longing look at the Chanel bag, and turned her head away as quickly as if it were the Apple of Eden._

 _Kurt started in surprise; Rachel squawked: "What?! But these are all so nice. You don't just toss thousands of dollars of presents away. You don't throw a gift away in any case."_

 _"You do if it's a ticking time bomb," said Santana darkly. "Something is rotten in the state of New York, Hummelberry, and it's these creepy gifts. I'm detecting the same stink-waves emanating off this stuff that I did from Rachel's gigolo beau."_

 _Rachel opened her mouth, closed it, looked at the floor. Kurt bit his lip. How much he wanted her to be wrong, but this had certainly crossed over the line from flattering to unnerving._

 _"How do you know?"_

 _"My bullshit radar is second to none, twinkletoes. And right now it's so loud that you're gonna give me some aspirin when I go; I'll have a killer migraine. Rachel, don't you think it's just the slightest bit weird that this guy knows where you live?"_

 _"…maybe?"_

 _Santana flicked her eyes to the ceiling. "It's one thing to leave presents or valentines at someone's locker in high school. It's another thing entirely when someone is following you home, leaving you crap at your door, and probably breaking into Kurt's bedroom to smell his pillowcases, spritz his fairy-dust cologne, and lie underneath his bed, listening to him breathe."_

 _"Well, no sleep tonight," muttered Kurt, feeling increasingly-jumpy. Now Rachel looked similarly nervous; after all, the Bushwick loft was her home, too. She looked around the loft, as if expecting someone to leap out any moment._

 _"My dads bought me a Hello Kitty revolver when they started teaching me to shoot at the Lima range. I wonder if they'd ship it to me?"_

 _Kurt had thrown her a strange look as Santana continued: "My Abuela always told me it's the nasty things wrapped up in pretty packages that you really have to watch out for. Brody seemed like quite the charmer on the outside, but open him up and all that's there is a slut-pig." She rounded on Kurt, ponytail swinging. "Maybe all these things are coming from a would-be sugar daddy fifty years your senior waiting to offer you candy from the back of his van. You'll never be seen ever again."_

 _Sickened, Kurt squeezed now-glistening palms together. Rachel exclaimed, "Yes, yes, definitely getting the forty-five."_

 _"I thought the worst I had to worry about coming to New York was some random guy pick-pocketing or mugging me. Not…some stalker specifically fixated on me!"_

 _"I don't recognize the handwriting," said Santana, looking at one of the cards. "And Auntie Snixx went through Captain Carebear's things when you and Blainers became a thing."_

 _"Hey!"_

 _" Not his handwriting, and he checked out clean," she said begrudgingly. "I hate everyone, but I hate your boy a little less, and if that's not a stamp of approval from me, I don't know what is."_

 _Kurt decided to test his stalker theory by going window-shopping with Blaine again, pausing to admire and stroke a black pea-coat with glossy silver buttons. Not two days later it had followed Kurt home, waiting expectantly for him when Kurt wearily trudged home from an insufferably-long business-meeting at_ Vogue.

 _Who had this kind of money? Or this kind of interest in him?_

 _When he called his father, Burt sounded worried enough that he told Kurt to get another lock (he bought two) and gave him needless admonitions to always keep his pepper spray on him and to avoid being alone when not in public. The police had sounded amused when Kurt contacted them—_ oh, look, you're receiving fancy gifts, likely the worst crime in New York City _—and told him to only contact them again if_ someone started sending illicit items. Kurt didn't like to think what they had meant by that, exactly.

 _He stayed more and more frequently at Blaine's place, spending long mornings and evenings entwined in Blaine's arms as the latter absently smoothed his hand up and down Kurt's long bare back. One morning when Kurt was being particularly quiet, Blaine tilted his chin up gently, meeting Kurt's eyes with his own._

 _"I don't think anyone means you any harm, Kurt. At least they aren't leaving you boxes full of lingerie and dead animals."_

 _Kurt abruptly rolled away. "That's not funny. That's not the least bit funny."_

 _"No, love. It's not." He exhaled with a short puff through his nose. "I'm sorry. I must admit I was jealous that someone could give you all these things—but I'm getting more than a little concerned, too. If you feel unsafe, you should move in with me."_

 _"Your place is too small," Kurt murmured against Blaine's skin as the smaller boy trailed warm lips over Kurt's collarbone._

 _"Then we'll get another one. We've been together for over a year now, and you're here most nights anyway." Blaine chuckled, chest vibrating. "I know you would miss Rachel terribly, but somehow perhaps you could go on…"_

 _Kurt flung a pillow at him and laughed, as much as out of relief as out of joy. "My heart will go on, I promise you. As for if I'll move in with you, does James Brown get down?"_

 _"I don't know whom James Brown is, or if he does indeed get down, but the excellent rhyme leaves me hopeful."_

 _"Yes. Yes._ Yes."

 _Several weeks later, Kurt woke up in the home he and Blaine were building together. He'd leaned over and kissed his still-snoozing boyfriend, and rose to head downstairs to check the mailbox._

 _When he opened the door, there had been a Goldman & Sachs box waiting for him, with a diamond-studded musical note pin. _

_His stalker had followed him._

-O-


	2. Epilogue

-O-

 _"….you_ bought them?" Kurt asked feebly, his own voice barely audible over the blood pounding in his ears. "All those gifts?"

Alek looked amused. "How much money do you think some Rainbow-Brite, artsy-fartsy twink is bringing in?"

"….you _didn't."_

Alek plopped down and slung his arms atop the sofa, playfully grinning ear-to-ear. "When Blaine goes to bed, I often just take over and he doesn't know the difference." His voice dipped to a syrupy sweet purr. "Then I look over Our mental list, which consists of all the goodies you creamed yourself for, and check it twice. And then it's time to go shopping. You've been such a _good_ boy, Kurt." He slapped his thigh. "Won't you come sit on my lap? Then I can go up your chimney."

 _Lying. Lying. Liar. Lying liar who lies._

"Do you seriously think I'm stupid enough to think you could steal all those luxury-brand items by just swiping and running?" Kurt growled, tucking back dampening strands of hair. "Security would've tackled your ankles the first and last time you tried. Tell me how you really got them."

"I _don't_ think you're stupid." Alek chimed, over-bright and mockingly simpering. He let out a long gasp. "In fact, I think you're so not stupid you grasp the concept that there all plenty more subtle means of getting what you need in this life. It's amazing what you can get shop employees or even security guards to do when you just ask nicely. Even when their stunt costs them their jobs."

"The _hell_ do you mean?" Kurt demanded, with much more authority than he felt.

"I mean manners are good and good for a healthy and functional society! And when you want nice things, it's really all in the way you ask, and _whom_ you refer when you ask. Especially when you suggest your _new_ friends-to-be ought to meet some of your _old_ good friends, whom are delighted to do favors when you frequently scratch their backs."

Alek rose and cracked his neck, humming appreciatively as he did so. Kurt reflexively stepped back, eyes flicking to the nearby coffee table. For a split moment he contemplated shoving the thing over in Alek's immediate path before tearing out of the room.

" _Whom_ are your friends, Alek? I can promise none of _Blaine and I's_ friends would do whatever the fuck you're trying to insinuate." Kurt drew a breath, and his voice almost failed him. To his great consternation it came out as slow and small as it did the morning he and Blaine discovered their cat's lifeless body curled up in his bed. Or the day he and Burt Hummel watched the morticians carry Elizabeth away in a long bag that zipped.

"What are you saying they did? What in the _world_ could they say that would make people risk their jobs, or being arrested?"

Alek's slivered dark eyes narrowed, and he let the awful silence hang like a suffocating curtain. "Don't ask questions you're not prepared to hear the answer to." The teasing pretext had evaporated.

He didn't recall sidling over to the wall but he found himself there anyway. When his tongue finally cooperated he cried, "That merchandise is worth several _thousand dollars_. I—I wound up keeping a lot of that stuff! They're stolen goods! I-It's extortion!"

Alek sneered. "It's not like these companies aren't so well-off that they'll miss a few things here and there; considering what they charge for the shit they probably have orphaned children with missing fingers make, it's what they deserve. And you're well-worth the risk. Say, you're _welcome_ , by the way. I accept fellatio in lieu of thank-you notes, in case you're interested."

"You're a kleptomaniac." Kurt murmured between barely-moving lips.

"I resent that. I prefer the term 'caring aggressively.' Oh come _on_ ," he snapped, as tears welled up in Kurt's eyes and Katz pulled him into a reassuring hug from behind. Kurt jumped; he'd forgotten Katz and Roberts were there. "I was trying to be _nice."_

"Your 'being nice' involves breaking the law, Alek," Roberts admonished.

"Yeah, well, baby steps and all that. I made sure Blaine never got caught, you realize. You never exactly had the police break down your door."

"That's not the point," Kurt said despairingly. "None of these things is worth you risking getting Blaine into trouble. And you're a repeat offender; sooner or later you're bound to get _caught."_

"Very well, then. I'll stop," said Alek testily, crossing his arms. "Happy now?"

"Alek, what you've told us is grounds for having you arrested," said Katz sadly. "We have doctor-patient confidentiality, but if you're a criminal…"

"Oh, come on! How can you jail Blaine for something he didn't even do?" Alek demanded, springing to his feet. "And what about Emily? You think the kid would survive the big house? You _know_ what fucking Blaine's going to fucking try again if he loses his job, his dream _and_ his sweetheart. He'll have lost everything." His voice shot to a shout: "And _I'll_ have to pick up his slack because he, Adam and Emily can't deal, and of course _**I'm**_ **THE FUCKING BAD GUY!"**

"….Adam?" Katz whispered, dumbfounded. "There's ano—"

"Can you let me talk with Blaine?" Kurt beseeched weakly. _"Please."_

"So you can break his heart? I don't think so," growled Alek. The man jumped to his feet and Katz uneasily moved in front of Kurt. Roberts quickly sidled in front of her as Alek strode over to glower a positively splintering look mere inches away. "The twat-waffle wants you to be free, but then his mind will shred itself to pieces and he'll turn his face to the wall and just let us take over for the rest of his life. Think _very_ carefully before breaking Our heart, Kurt. Don't make me take y—"

"That's not Kurt's problem," protested Roberts angrily. "You shouldn't blackmail him, hold this like a sword over him!"

"The last few times he tried offing himself, we had to take over for Blaine for months in the loony bin. You think Kurt _wants_ that on his conscience?"

"He," began Kurt, in a strangled voice. "Tried to kill himself?"

Alek spat on the floor. "Yes. And the funny farm isn't all that fun, I assure you. The food probably comes from the uncontrollable bowel ward. They thought they could get rid of us with pills," he hissed, glowing softly like an ember or new mother with triumph. "And we all know how _that_ ended."

"Blaine never told me any of this. _None_ of this."

"And why would he?" Alek demanded, voice callous and dry as sandpaper. "He wanted you since he heard you sing at the showcase—sooner or later I would've taken over and took matters into my own hands if you hadn't asked us out for coffee."

"Blaine. I asked _Blaine."_

Alek looked him dead in the eye over Roberts' shoulder. "Us."

"What happened?" Kurt asked desperately, and the tears started spilling down his face in earnest. "Oh, God, what happened to Blaine—to you all? What hurt you like this? And why? You never deserved any of this."

"Stop crying," Alek snapped, though he sounded positively unnerved now. "I _told_ you I wouldn't shoplift anymore, so stop—stop doing that, stop crying, I _don't_ like—"

"Alek, I'm so sorry," Kurt choked out, and he all but hurtled around the doctors to him. Katz frantically yanked at air for his arm and shrieked, "Kurt, don't _touch_ him now, he has a history of viol—"

But Kurt threw his arms around Alek's shoulders, and his spindly frame rattled with sobs. Alek convulsed as sharply at the touch as if he'd been burned by holy water. Roberts stiffened, thumb atop the sedative plunger at the ready.

Grimacing at him, Alek almost timidly framed Kurt's ribs with his hands. He seemed astonished. He wasn't the only one; Katz's hand was frozen over a walkie at her belt, and Roberts had dropped his needle.

Gradually, very gradually, as if the motion pained him somewhat, Alek drew Kurt into a proper hug. "Hello," he said lowly, wonderingly. Almost fascinated. "That's….you're not really crying over _me,_ are you?"

A stifled howl escaped and Alek closed his eyes, allowing his head to sag forward as he held Kurt, bangs framing his face.

The seconds crawled by, so short a time, yet stiflingly long as Kurt cried bitterly. Alek did not move. Then, very slowly he pulled back, eying Kurt with equal parts trepidation and curiosity.

"Kurt?" The figure asked worriedly. The voice was very soft, but with a much-higher pitch now. Brown eyes wandered around the room before glimpsing a tissue box on a nearby table. The figure retrieved it and pressed it against Kurt's chest like a peace offering. Startled, Kurt hesitantly took it, and as he looked up his weeping paused in the wake of his growing surprise.

"Are you okay? Don't be sad. Alek says a lot of things, but he's not really mean. Did you like your presents? I wanted to get you, a Paddington bear, but Alek said no, he was only getting Kurt-stuff. But Paddington's—Paddington's a bear that wears a _rain jacket._ And, and, a yellow hat. You should—you should ask Alek for one. Or two. Two would be better, so your Paddington, and, and my Paddington, can be friends. Or you should get an American Girl doll. I want Samantha. Or Addy. Adam reads their books to me, sometimes, sometimes because they're big girl books, with chapters. Paddington has books too."

"Whom are we talking to now?" asked Roberts, although he had relaxed considerably, stooping to pick up his needle and put it back in his pocket. Emily's lower lip protruded.

"I don't like you," she said accusingly. "You look like _him_ and you're a bad man. Go away."

"Hey sweetheart." Said Katz kindly as she approached them. Kurt remained rooted to the spot. "Remember me?"

Emily shyly considered the floor, swaying back and forth and arms flopping. "Yes."

"How are you?"

A shrug. "Alek isn't happy. He can't…"

"I know he gets awkward in these kinds of situations."

"What's awkward?"

"Awkward is when you're not sure what to do about something."

"Oh. He's _very_ awkward."

Katz almost smiled. "I agree. When he's not getting into fights or breaking car windows or starting fires."

Only the need to protect the little girl from his screaming kept Kurt from opening his mouth. This was very-nearly more than Kurt could bear; the atmosphere had spun a disorienting near-180. But still no glimpse of Blaine.

"Would anyone like some ice cream?" asked Roberts, after a pregnant pause. "I have some in the freezer in the break room."

Emily's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What flavor—"

"It's mint chocolate chip."

Her brow creased but a grudging smile appeared. "Okay."

As Roberts left the room Emily smiled at Kurt before moving closer to Katz. "Hi," she said, so quietly she was barely perceptible at all.

Kurt steeled himself with a deep breath, fighting off more tears. "Hello," he forced out, managing a half-smile in turn. He gestured to the pictures still on the table. "Did you draw these?" A bashful nod. "You're really, really good."

Emily's cheeks went pink. "I drew one of us," she announced, picking up a picture of two people and sticking it under Kurt's nose. Kurt considered the curly-haired child stick-figure holding hands with someone whom vaguely-resembled himself, big red smiles bleeding across their faces.

"Is this how you see yourself?" Another timid nod. "Can…you tell me a little more about you?"

Emily spoke up at once: "I want to be a nurse, and, and a superhero, and a vet. I want to be a vet for cats sometimes." She adopted a very serious tone. "I like purple. And I want a tea set." She looked uncomfortable as Katz steered her into a chair, but allowed the contact. "But Blaine's daddy said no. He said they weren't for girls. But I _am_ a girl. And I want Santa to bring me one. He hasn't yet, but I've been good."

Kurt sank down again too, maintaining eye contact.

"Do you know anything about Alek?"

"He likes to shop a lot."

"….is that what he told you?"

"Yes," said Emily, sounding surprised. "Alek is very nice. Sometimes he doesn't tell or show me things, because Alek is a _monster hunter."_ The last two words came out in a hush, and she looked very pleased. "He takes over when Adam gets scared, too."

"Ad—what," Kurt shook his head and continued on weakly: "Is he, now?"

"Yes. Alek says I'll only be scared, so he looks after bad memories. He's nice, really. He even got me a tea set once and hid it in the apartment so I could play with it." Then her eyes welled up. "Then Blaine found it behind the curtain and didn't know what to do with it, so he just gave it away. And Alek—Alek said—Alek said he couldn't buy things for me anymore, or Blaine would know Alek likes to buy things and just get rid of all the presents. That's sad. That's _very_ sad."

"That is sad." Kurt reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shied away from the touch and Kurt regretfully pulled away. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Don't touch me. I don't like that."

"Why don't I buy you your own tea set?" Kurt offered, and Emily's mouth formed an O, as if Kurt pro-offered her a unicorn. "That way it can be yours. And Blaine won't have to give it back. How about that?"

Emily beamed at him, even stood and jumped up and down, squealing. "That's happy. That's happy! I want a purple one. With flowers, like, like Rapunzel's tea set. I like Rapunzel and—and Jasmine. And I want—I want tea or juice in the teapot. Apple juice, _not_ orange, because orange is yucky and has _pulp_ which sticks to your teeth, And it's—it's sour—it's sour after you brush your teeth. That's poop."

"I never thought of it that way. Can you…tell me more…about Blaine's past?"

Emily's enthusiasm cooled at once. "No." She turned away and sang very loudly, waving her head and swinging again. "No, no, no. Have to keep quiet. Alek told me I have to keep the secret. Or all of us will die. That's what the bad man told us."

If Kurt wasn't horrified then, he was now. "Emily," he began, not noticing Katz urgently jerking a line over her throat. "Please, tell me what happened, what hurt—"

Emily slammed her hands over her ears and screamed: _**"NO! NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOOOO!"**_

"Okay, okay, okay," Kurt said quickly, holding up his hands. "Okay. It's okay, sweetheart. Calm down." Emily turned and eyed him as charily as if he held her at gunpoint and he immediately switched tactics.

"It must be so hard. Doing what you do." Emily still looked suspicious. "You deserve a reward. Is there anything else you want, other than a tea set?"

"I want my own Paddington Bear," she responded promptly. "Alek looked and looked because I really wanted one, but there aren't any. Not here. Lots of bears, but none with a raincoat."

"I'll look online," promised Kurt. "Sweetheart, can I speak to Blaine?"

She shook her head. "That's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"You'll leave," Said Emily in surprise, as if it were obvious. "And you don't get us to love you and then leave, Kurt. That's bad. That's not happy. Blaine's first mommy did that."

 _His_ first?

"Hey." He heard himself say soothingly, though he in all likelihood was going to force Katz or Roberts to write him a prescription for work to excuse him for mental anguish. "I didn't say anything about going anywhere."

At that moment Roberts came back into the room with a bowl of ice cream. He handed it to Katz, whom passed it to a gleeful Emily. "Kurt. Can you come with me for a moment?"

Emily's pleasure evaporated at once; her face contorted with rage and terror as she seized a tissue box and hurled it across the room with a wail that nearly shattered Kurt's ears. _"No! You're taking him away! No!_ _ **NO! I HATE YOU!"**_

"Just for a moment, sweetheart, just for a moment. Kurt is coming with me to pick out a video," assured Roberts fervently, holding up his hands. "Would you like to watch one?"

Emily looked conflicted; she clearly wanted to say yes, but petulantly glued her lips together.

"Why don't you stay with me and draw?" suggested Katz, pulling open a drawer and tugging out a plastic bin of crayons and a roll of construction paper. "Just us girls? The boys will pick out a video, and we'll draw something else nice for Kurt. You can color the tea seat you want, so Kurt knows what to look for."

Emily brightened and nodded, helping herself to her treat as Katz unrolled the paper on the table and placed the crayon box beside her. As she got to work, Roberts nodded to Kurt and the two stepped into the hallway as the former shut the door behind them.

He turned and found the young man near-doubled over, one hand braced against the wall for support. Face still stricken of its color, Kurt looked up at him with pale, teary eyes, hand clapped over his mouth as if his stomach were a jack-in-the-box.

Much later on, Roberts would remember the final line of Eli Wiesel's memoir _Night_ , the one wherein Wiesel looked at a mirror upon being freed, and had a corpse contemplating him:

 _The look in his eyes has never left me._

Kurt slowly slid down and curled small ball, hands tangling in his hair and gripping tightly. With a labored grunt, Roberts copied him as Kurt's lifeless eyes stared through him. "Oh, dear boy." The bristles of his mustache ruffled as he sighed. "I'm so sorry."

"What happened to him?" Kurt asked, near-inaudibly. "Do you know?"

"No one has told us directly," said Roberts heavily. "But we think we may yet know the truth. Emily dropped hints that the priest of the Catholic school Blaine went as a young child molested him." Kurt bit the inside of his cheek hard. "And terrified him into keeping his silence by threatening his life and immortal soul. And beating him, judging by the pictures Emily drew. There were lots of red slashes and open mouths.

"Blaine was actually expelled from school when the priest alleged that he suddenly turned into a wild animal when they were alone in the chapel together. Two nuns heard the ruckus and had to pull him away; he was biting and howling and scratching like a rabid animal so much so they thought he was possessed by a devil. His parents could hardly believe it." Roberts hummed, looking very old. "By all accounts he sounded like such a sweet little child…and when his psychiatrist questioned him, Blaine was unable to recall the incident.

"Not longer after, the offender suddenly vanished after allegations that he'd preyed on another child. But Blaine's disorder was misdiagnosed several times in his early years; one of his physicians believed that Blaine was suffering from early-onset bipolar disorder because of his rapid transitions from sweet and soft to someone whom could be dangerous." Dangerous. Blaine. Two words that had no business being in the same sentence. "Even adolescent-schizophrenia was considered a possibility, but the memory lapses could not be explained…his parents were desperate enough that they took him to the country's best specialists on childhood disorders. Eventually they decided to test for DID, which is only fairly-recently becoming accepted by the psychiatric community.

"As I said, Blaine's physicians Dr. Marcia and Griffin hooked Blaine up to an EEG and induced personality transitions. The brainwaves they saw were different each time."

"His parents," Kurt started, couldn't finish.

"You have no idea. Blaine was home-schooled for most of his life, but was ostracized in his neighborhood for identity transitions; he could rapidly turn into a little girl or a hard-headed, easily-provoked demon full of rage. That caused him no end of grief, especially because he could not remember his own offenses. And he's otherwise incredibly tender-hearted." Kurt hugged his knees as Roberts went on:

"He very much wished to go to school, and did manage to attend his last two years of high school, though his teachers described him as very quiet and withdrawn, pardoning when he was participating in choral or drama. I don't think he wished to draw attention to himself, fearing that a potential-confrontation could trigger an appearance from Alek or Emily. Certainly he wasn't out in high school; I don't imagine bullying would've done him any favors.

"Still, his social-life did improve with his involvement with music and theater, and as he grew happier there were fewer and fewer memory lapses that meant he'd had an episode. His physicians were very hopeful that maybe Emily and Alek could safely be integrated in Blaine's personality.

"Just the same, his parents were understandably very uneasy about his moving away from home for college. But Blaine's doctors had several conferences with Katz and I, and thought that after we intensively reviewed his case, we could perhaps help him. Emily resisted at first." He looked slightly amused. "She liked her old specialists and was accustomed to them. But Dr. Griffin reasoned that the happier Blaine was, the less likely he was to transition. And by all means he's been a success story, considering many people with DID are so incapacitated with depression the best they can do is manage their damage.

"The fact that Viktor no longer appears is promising, but in all likelihood no amount of medication will really keep Emily and Alek at bay forever; they resist Blaine's attempts to silence them." He paused, looking deeply troubled. "And there was mention today of another one in the wings…an Adam….

"They are all purely defensive shields; Emily feels comfortable expressing pain, although she suppresses quite a few of Blaine's early childhood memories. She's a trauma sponge." Kurt leaned his cheek on his knee, still silent. "She presses her hands over her ears when we try to talk about the molestation; she's a desperate attempt to maintain some innocence. But she feels too much just the same.

"Alek feels too little. He sees it as his job to protect the party by being obstinate, crude, and violent. He readily responds to threats, real or imagined. He thinks of sex almost nonstop—he brags that he's Blaine's suppressed sexual urges personified. He's fierce, but quickly flees the scene when a situation becomes too emotionally-charged."

"Like the id, ego, and superego." Kurt tapped his shoes together, and prayed to wake up in his bed entwined with Blaine. His Blaine. "I take it Alek is the id."

"That's an interesting way of looking at it. Blaine's other personalities haven't surfaced for some time before now….or we thought they hadn't. It's very troubling to learn that Alek and Emily are periodically taking over when Blaine's asleep; he won't be able to understand the difference."

"…he _has_ been waking up sometimes complaining that he didn't feel like he got enough rest."

"Then we may want to try sleeping pills to keep the duo from surfacing. Although considering what we learned today, we may want to send him to a psychiatric hospital for observation. I'm certain the facility's directors would be fascinated to examine a patient with a legitimate case of DID."

He mentally recoiled at those implications— _Blaine was not a lab rat_. "But you said you hadn't seen Blaine have an episode for awhile?"

"Not for a long time. I think we began seeing less and less of Alek and Emily shortly after you two began dating. We expressed our concerns when Blaine said he wasn't certain how to brook the subject of his DID with you, though he was crushed with shame during his sessions with us."

He shook his head firmly. "Please understand me that I'm _not_ excusing him. He should've been honest over such an important aspect of his life once you two decided to co-habitate."

"I understand." Kurt was thoughtful for a moment. "Has he…he said he's never been in a relationship before me. I almost didn't believe him. He's…" He gestured helplessly. _"Blaine."_

"No. Blaine has never been in a romantic relationship prior to you. He always insisted he never would have a boyfriend; he'd resigned himself to be single for the rest of his life and nothing Griffin or Marcia said would change his outlook. Then, about two years ago he mentioned he'd been asked out for coffee by the boy he'd been raving about following your winter showcase performance." Kurt felt his ears burn.

"Emily and Alek did not resurface for months, and Blaine was beginning to hope he could lead a normal life. I'm not certain what triggered Alek last night, and I'm certain he won't say, though it sounds like, um, repressed sexual frustration on Blaine's part." Kurt's head bumped against the wall, and Roberts hurriedly followed up: "It. Is. Not. Your. Fault." He punched his palm with each word for emphasis.

"But…you may wish…to re-think your relationship. I want Blaine to live a normal, happy, healthy life. I truly do. But it's inexcusable to put you at risk because the trio is frightened to lose you. Or a quartet, for that matter."

"Alek," Kurt said quietly. "What do you think he'd do if I tried leaving Blaine?"

"Blaine's parents granted me power of attorney to have their son taken to an assisted-living facility if I thought he could be a danger to himself or others."

"….you mean a lunatic asylum." It was all he could do not to seize the doctor by the collar and shake him. "You'd…shut him up in another loony bin."

"The truth is, I truly don't believe Alek will ever harm you." Said Roberts mildly. "He's never gone after people Blaine is close to. But he might yet decide to hurt people close to _you_ in order to pressure you to stay in the relationship." Kurt had to put his head between his knees again. Roberts waited for him to somewhat get his bearings before continuing:

"Even if Alek doesn't present a physical threat to anyone, if he keeps shoplifting, or goodness knows what else—he's told us some stories—we have no choice but to have him put away. A mental health facility—" Kurt likened that to calling jail a _correctional behavior institution_ —"Is a much kinder option than taking him to prison."

"But would he ever get out?"

"Truthfully? Almost certainly not. Not unless a definitive cure for DID is invented, which is highly unlikely."

Kurt tilted his head to the ceiling, more tears spilling down his face. He had been dating a stranger. _Two_ strangers, according to Alek.

If he'd held anything in his hands he would've thrown it. So much of Blaine's life had been deliberately glossed over— _by the way honey, I have multiple personalities as a result of being brutally assaulted as a tot and one of them is probably borderline-sociopathic_ —kept secret from him. He stuffed his hand against his mouth and wished desperately he could bury his face in his father's comfortable old flannel to hide and cry like a child.

Blaine had spoken so little of his own childhood, and sometimes it seemed as if he'd simply dropped off a conveyor belt at age sixteen. He spoke enthusiastically of his high school and old friends, but he shied away from most of his childhood in discussion. Kurt hadn't held it against him; he hadn't had any real friends before Glee club himself. And so much of his life before that felt like being half-asleep after his mother died. A token of himself had gone with her.

And Kurt knew something else had decidedly disappeared today, and re-living it as he was now doomed to meant that the loss wasn't once, but a hundred times. A thousand.

But how much worse had it been for Blaine, whom was actively at war with people inside him whom made it their mission to keep people at bay forever? He saw red—pink, rather, because the tears kept diluting it.

He could understand _why_ Blaine hadn't told him, but it was utterly unforgivable just the same. He'd lied. By omission, but you couldn't enter a relationship without telling someone about this. And for just a second Kurt was outside the bar where Sebastian quietly confessed what exactly had _happened_ during his summer study abroad program in Madrid. Kurt's heart hadn't been shattered; that might've implied he had some shards remain. His heart was utterly knocked out of him.

This was the biggest violation of his trust since Sebastian had cheated on him, and he ought to hate Blaine for it, it would be so much easier if he did, to wash his hands off and move on with his life and pretend the last few months hadn't been the best in his life and he wasn't hopelessly in love and happy, and—

"We should get going," said Roberts as he heaved himself up, extending his hand. Very slowly Kurt took it.

Roberts opened a small cabinet filled with video cassettes and pulled out a _Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood_ tape, humming in approval. "This is a favorite of hers. It's soothing."

"Will she let me speak to Blaine after?" Kurt asked anxiously.

"I would give her a little time. Emily is rarely out, and when she is she digs her heels in if she suspects people are trying to get rid of her in a hurry. Let her cool down a bit, and then try. Katz usually needs some time to get through to Blaine, but perhaps she'll listen to you. We'll see."

Not feeling the slightest bit encouraged, Kurt re-entered the room to find Katz and a little girl in a grown man's body scribbling on the floor. "Hey, you."

Emily barely looked up from her progress. "Hi." She scrutinized the faded cover as Kurt pushed the cassette inside the TV. "I like that one." She held up her bowl. "Want some ice cream?"

"No thank you, dear."

Kurt sat down next to her and the two watched the tinkling jazz opening in a stillness that was more companiable than awkward. The theme of the day was forgiveness.

Somehow, somewhere, Roberts was going to pay for this.

The Trolley entered the neighborhood of Make-Believe, wherein Prince Tuesday threw himself off a castle tower in hopes of flying. Kurt contemplated it all wordlessly, and startled when Emily timidly touched his arm.

"Are you sad? Is this not happy?"

"I'm very happy to be sitting with you, honey. I'm just very tired." He smiled sadly when Emily pushed a stuffed polar bear into his hands; probably another provision on Katz's part. "Can you let me speak to Blaine?"

Emily shook her head and frowned. "That's sad."

"What's sad?"

"You want to say goodbye to Blaine. You want to say goodbye and go very far away. Blaine's first mommy did that. Oops." She put her hands to her lips. "I have to keep the secrets. Or Blaine will be so sad and fall apart and we'll all die."

"I know you and Alek are trying to protect him." Kurt murmured tenderly. "I'd like to help you all. I want to tell him there's nothing to be frightened of."

"You're lying. If you can't tell Blaine goodbye, then you can't leave."

He blinked. Emily did not seem to understand that you didn't necessarily have to say farewells in order to leave someone, but Kurt wasn't about to enlighten her.

"But I don't want to say goodbye. I just want everyone to feel better. Can you let him know Kurt loves him and is waiting for him?"

Emily rolled her fingertips for a long moment. With no small amount of difficulty Kurt swallowed the panic flaring inside him like hot gas in a balloon, and scooted closer to her. Her shoulders squared and she tensed, but allowed it.

"Hey. Hey, sweetheart." His hand reached out as if of its own accord for her chin, and tilted it up. "Can you look at me?"

For a nasty moment it seemed Emily wouldn't obey; her eyes remained fixated on her knees. Then, most unwillingly her dark eyes flickered up to meet his, and he smiled tremulously, fighting to keep the tears from glittering his own eyes and only half-succeeding.

"I love Blaine. I would never, ever do anything to hurt him deliberately. And you know something?" He added, daring to tuck a curl behind her ear. "I love you too."

Emily turned bright red and she shrugged, but she was clearly suppressing a pleased smile from unrolling. Kurt beamed at her for a long moment.

"Pass that on to Alek for me, won't you? And, uh…Adam, if there is an Adam."

The girl looked at him hard, gave the most imperceptible of nods, and her shoulders visibly slumped as she sighed. "You've done enough," Kurt encouraged, pulling her into a hug. "Good job, Emily. You've done so well."

The exhausted form sagged in his arms, and Kurt tucked their head underneath his chin, unknowingly rocking ever so slightly as he slowly smoothed a hand up and down their back, his own eyes closing.

They remained entwined together for an imperceptible amount of time, like looking back at an uneventful year and being unable to decide whether it were long or short. Kurt eventually wondered if perhaps the boy curled up against him had fallen asleep before he eventually drew back, eyes bleary and incomprehensive. The warm bulbs slowly met Kurt's, and with a leap of pure joy Kurt recognized him at once. "Oh. Thank _God. Blaine."_

He seized the young man in a vicelike hold, not even bothering to stem the rush of mucus and tears. Blaine remained frozen in his boyfriend's hold, and then slowly pulled back to sit on his knees. "Oh." He said blankly, before a look of utmost horror crept over his face. "Oh." He scrambled to his feet and back away from Kurt, stumbling "Oh—oh—" He looked wildly at the doctors standing silent and somberly at the door, and his knees buckled as badly as if he were about to fall prostrate before them and beg. "Please, please, _please—_ I don't _want,_ no, I don't want—tell me they _didn't—"_

He rounded on Kurt, still staring up at him, and Blaine's chest rapidly rose and fell. His face darkened, and sheer despair chiseled his sweating features as his eyes dewed up with tears. "No," he hissed through grit teeth, mouth opening in a soundless cry. "Kurt—I didn't—please tell me he didn't hurt—"

Blaine doubled over and retched, dry-heaving. Kurt anxiously placed a hand on his back as Roberts nervously scooted a wastebasket in front of him. "Blaine, calm down, it's okay, you're here. You're safe, and you need to stay calm, otherwise Alek—"

And Blaine actually screamed at the name, roaring as he buried his face in his hands. Kurt yanked him into another hug, frantically murmuring in his ear. "Hey. Hey. Shhh."

"Christ, Christ, I'm so _sorry,_ Kurt, I thought—I thought I was better, I wanted to be better for you, oh God, fucking God—" He slammed his fist against his thigh over and over again.

"Why can't I have nice things? Why, why, why, why, _**fucking WHY?!"**_

He stepped away, shrugging off Kurt's attempt to embrace him again, waving his head like a dog dislodging water. He cried, "I thought I was getting better. I truly did, I _promise_ , Kurt. I didn't even want to say anything about my… _problem,_ so it wouldn't exist outside my head. A dry, choking noise. "And all these months it was getting farther and farther away…you made me feel so normal, but like the world, I can't remember the last time I was truly happy…

"But it was _sick,_ it was _selfish,_ and I was putting you at risk and I had no idea, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry—oh, God, Alek could've hurt you—" He lunged for Kurt's shoulders. "Tell me he didn't. And don't lie. Don't lie. _**DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME**_ _!"_

And through it all Kurt only looked at him, chalky featured.

"Blaine."

Blaine sank to the couch with his face in his hand, and let out a noise of a lacerated animal. Kurt slowly crossed the room, and pried the shaking hands away, squeezing them.

"I can't say today wasn't…a bombshell, it certainly was, and I'll…" He shuddered as the room tilted sickeningly. "I'm not really okay. Not right now—wait, stay with me, stay with me, honey, please. _Please."_

He leaned forward and kissed Blaine's brow, cupping a flushed cheek in his own icy fingers. "But I'd like to see if we can't still try to make this work."

Silence. Blaine's raspy breathing hitched. He slowly raised his swollen face and goggled at Kurt, so shocked he even stopped crying.

Kurt quickly kissed Blaine, whom remained a statue. "I _love_ you. For what it's worth, I _know_ that's not enough to heal….oh…"

It was his turn to resume weeping. Blaine had been assaulted. Blaine, whom was so warm and generous and precious even as an adult—had been violated when he was just a little child.

In a courtroom scenario, Kurt couldn't say he'd stopped thinking entirely, or that his senses became an inferno from the sparks of the moment. His reality pulsed, and with all the clarity in the world he seriously reconsidered his no-tolerance stance on violence.

"…I know that's not enough to undo the harm that's been done to you. But I love you. So much. You are more than what you've suffered. You just sitting here is a miracle, because you're as _good_ as you are—look at me, _look at me_ , it's the truth. When have I ever flattered anyone, _sans moi?"_ Blaine's mouth gave the slightest of twitches.

"You've been….oh, God, it makes me sick, what's been done to you. It's nothing short of despicable and _evil_ , and I'm so sorry."

He leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together. "But you're here. Most people wouldn't even be functioning. But you _are_ successful, and you held onto your heart. You did. You did," he implored, as Blaine whimpered, looking utterly wretched. "You're the best person I've ever known, and that doesn't change today. The only thing that has is that I know you were more courageous and I am prouder than I ever could've guessed. And if you can't believe that, I'll tell you again and again and again, a thousand times over, until you believe it too.

Hot tears continued slipping between Kurt's fingers again. "But you didn't know what you were doing. And while Alek has got to stop—stealing things, I think he did it because you wanted me to be happy."

"Stealing," Blaine moaned, trembling. "I'm a crook. I'm a crook, Kurt—how could you ever want to stay with me?"

"You're not a crook," said Kurt with more harshness than he felt. "You had no idea what Alek was up to, and he was driven by the desire you had to be generous."

"Yes, so generous it was _illegal."_

"We'll deal. I think Alek really meant it when he promised to stop. But you just need to understand that I don't want or need anything but to be with you." That flabbergasted look again. "You are more than your diagnosis. You don't have to be ashamed of either Alek or Emily. Or, uh, Adam, if he's there."

His voice dipped to a painfully-soft register as his hands slid to curl in Blaine's. After a long moment the sweating fingers closed over his palm.

"I think the more you try pushing away and despising your other personalities is only going to hurt you in the end. They want to be acknowledged, and they should be for shielding a defenseless child whom went through the worst kind of horror. Stay with me _, please."_

The lump in his throat ached so much it seemed on the verge of bursting. "I mean…if you feel you don't want to stay, you don't have to." Blaine let out a wet snort. "But please don't try to be stupid and noble because you think I can't handle this. I can. I'm not sacrificing anything to be with you."

"Kurt." He croaked, barely audible. "This is more than I deserve."

"People don't really do, you know." He sank down beside Blaine, whom clung to him as a drowning man clutches another. "Get what they deserve. You're certainly living proof of that." Kurt waited patiently until Blaine met his eyes once again. "My mother didn't get what she deserved. Neither did Finn. And definitely not you."

"I don't understand. How in the world can you forgive me?"

"Oh, you're not off the hook yet," Kurt said dryly, jabbing Blaine not-gently in the ribs. "I am…definitely going to have to take time to think about things. And we're going to have to work out plans for if and when this happens again. And we need to understand your triggers. Also, you're doing dishes for the next three weeks, and I get to pick our take-out restaurants for the next three months."

"…honey, you don't…."

"This isn't pity. I'm saying this because you're stuck with me."

"….you're a miracle."

"So are you. You are more than what happened to you."

-O-

 _Present Day_

"Well?" Blaine demanded. "What happened last night?"

"I promise you, everything was fine." Kurt retorted, irritably shoving the frying pan away. "Okay, well, Alek was…interested," He flushed and smiled sheepishly. "But I want you to feel like you can ask for these things yourself."

"And…?" Blaine asked pointedly, eyes narrowing.

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Like I said, I think Alek's going to be a whole lot easier to deal with if he's just treated with some respect instead of like some specimen. I whipped up dinner and a hot bath, but I did make him keep his wandering hands to himself. He kept grumbling about how I was a tease the whole time," he smiled fondly, in spite of himself. "And we watched RuPaul's Drag Race. Then bed. I threatened to make him sleep on the couch if he couldn't keep 'exploring.'" He threw his hands up in the air. "It still just feels too weird to sleep with him, even if he is technically a part of you."

Blaine groaned and plopped against the counter, burying his face in one hand. "I'm so sorry." He drew his palm down his weary face and looked away. "I'm so ashamed."

Kurt wandered up to him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Alek is what he is because he's more or less been shut in a closet. People fester in there, and after a long period of time they can come out as twisted and distorted as if they'd been shut up in a literal closet for years. He's had to deal with so much crap on his own. It's not either of your faults." He bumped Blaine's hips playfully with his own, and at last his partner let a grudging smile slip free. "I'm really not mad, I promise."

Blaine chuckled and sniffed the air hopefully. "Do you forgive me enough that I can have some sausage?"

"You certainly may. And you may have some breakfast too, while you're at it."

Blaine snorted, nudged Kurt affectionately and gave him a quick peck before grabbing a plate. As Kurt watched his boyfriend help himself to the spread, his fond smile became somewhat fixed.

"There is something I wanted to ask you about," he said softly, and Blaine curiously turned to meet him. "I found—"

A shrill ringtone interrupted him, startling them both. "Hold on," Kurt said breathlessly, scooping up his Android. "That's the _Survivor_ ringtone—must be my main babe Mercedes."

Blaine pouted as he sat down, helping himself to a piece of Kurt's toast. "And here _I_ thought I was your main babe."

"You're working your way up there," Kurt drawled, winking before answering his phone. "Morning, lady. You're not usually up—" His brow furrowed. "Hey, are you—slow down." He sank down to his seat. "Honey, you—what is it? I can barely understand you. Are you okay?"

Blaine stopped chewing as Kurt's phone slipped from loosening fingertips onto the table. Swearing, Kurt snatched it up again, only to keep losing his grip as if he were instead clutching a bar of soap. When at last he moved the cell back to his ear, he went still.

"How…how did he die?"

At that Blaine knocked over his mug and plate with his elbow and scrambled for Kurt's side, heart all but smacking itself against his ribs because Burt Hummel _couldn't_ have had another respiratory failure, not when Kurt had already buried his mother and brother, it wasn't possible, it wasn't _fair_ , it was too unbalanced, not when Kurt Hummel graced the world by being fucking _alive—_

Kurt listened, running a hand through his hair and gripping. "Please tell everyone we're on the way." His voice came out terribly small. "I…yeah. Okay. I know. It's….I think I'll be…" Blaine leaned in to listen, but he could scarcely distinguish anything beyond the rapid blur of Mercedes' voice. "…I don't know the etiquette here. But I love you too. I'm…" He bowed his head. "I'm…I'll see you soon, I just need….yeah….yeah…..I know….thank you so much. Love you again. Tell Rachel I….yeah, kisses."

"What happened?" Blaine asked immediately as Kurt lowered his cell and closed his eyes. "You said someone was dead. It's not Sam. Or Artie?" His firm declarative slipped into a meek and tiny question.

Kurt's eyes remained shut. When Blaine tentatively cupped his cheek Kurt sagged into the touch, and Blaine had to grab him before he hit the table. "Sebastian is dead." The words must've sounded as funny to Kurt as they did in the open air, so he said it again: "Sebastian is dead."

"Wha— _no!"_

Blaine grabbed him by the shoulders, and Kurt's head lolled on his shoulder's like a puppet's. "Someone found Sebastian's body in the alley next to a gay bar around three this morning." He looked to the ceiling, reluctant tears gleaming in his eyes. "He was covered in stab wounds."

"…oh." Blaine looked as if he were going to be positively sick. "Oh, God." He shook his head, utterly baffled. "Sweetheart," Kurt stared at him helplessly.

"I'm so sorry." For the briefest of moments both men wondered how sorry Blaine really was. "I mean…I know how you felt about him…toward the end, but _still—_

"C'mon, c'mon, honey, breathe, c'mere, it's okay, it's okay…"

"What can I get you?" asked Blaine as he hopped to his feet, narrowly avoiding stepping on shattered clay shards. "Oh, fuck, fuck—"

"The police don't think robbery was a motive," Kurt said thickly, scrubbing his eyes. From his distant expression he seemed to be talking mainly to himself. "They found his wallet on him. A bartender noticed Sebastian headed out the back with some guy in a baseball cap, though he doesn't remember what he looked like."

"Stabbed." Blaine echoed. He sank down beside Kurt and propped his head against his shoulder, "He was…I know we live in New York City, but holy cow…"

The two trailed off into stillness, thick as molasses and suffocating to breathe, yet neither could bring themselves to break it.

"Kurt," he asked, as blandly as if he were observing something tapped to the fridge. "Where was I last night?"

Kurt knelt in front of him. "Shhhhh. No. It couldn't have been you. And you want to know how I know that?"

Those dark eyes stared up at him with all the desperation of a child convinced of monsters waiting to drag him away in the dark. Kurt smoothed through Blaine's inky bedhead.

"You came over in the afternoon yesterday," Kurt explained patiently, squeezing back Blaine's hand with fingers that were rapidly losing feeling in them. "And you stayed here all night. I actually couldn't sleep, because…this is all still so new to me." He shrugged and smiled apologetically. "And to be honest, I was a little worried Alek might renege on the whole 'shoplifting is bad, mkay,' promise he made….so I made a cup of coffee, finished my term papers, and then just read in bed. You didn't get up once."

"….it wasn't me." Said Blaine wonderingly, and he exhaled at last, color beginning to trickle back in his features. "Oh, thank God. Wait," he added hastily, looking aghast. "You must think I'm the worst person in the world. I'm not happy about Sebastian being murdered, I _promise_ you. But it wasn't me."

"No," Kurt said dryly, unsmiling but his eyes dimly amused. "Always good to know you're not a killer." Blaine flinced, and Kurt kissed a small apology on his neck, nuzzling the spot.

"What do we do now?" Blaine asked, troubled. "I'm not…really sure what we should do. The last person in my family who died was my grandmother, and that was when I was four."

"Why don't you go take a shower?" Kurt suggested gently. "I'll clean these dishes up, and we can head to Mercedes' house. Everyone's meeting there—we might order some food and have a wake."

After the two finished cleaning the kitchen, Blaine headed to the bathroom and an expressionless Kurt Kurt wandered to the bedroom, looking at the clothes Alek shed not four hours ago when he dragged Kurt backwards here.

" _You're mine, mine, mine."_

Kurt slowly picked up the shirt, pausing when something fell out and hit the floor. A red baseball cap.

He went cold. Against his will his fingers wandered to the pant pockets. He fumbled, fingers closing over something cool and solid.

He withdrew the shining handle of a pocket knife, and slowly flicked it open, saw a rusty blade. No telling why Alek would want such a rusty old thing, or want to carry it around in the first place.

But he ran a finger on the knife, just the same. It wasn't rust, but crumbly-sticky residue. It came back, red on his finger.

 _Blood._

He fell to his knees, gripping his hair with both hands.

Circumstantial evidence was all it was. No—no, he would have to hand the knife over to the police with his suspicions. Walk into the shower and tell Blaine to be prepared, because they'd be coming to take him away—

What was that sound? Oh. Those ripping sounds were from himself. He choked and burst into tears.

 _Oh, Bas, Bas, Bas. Why couldn't you just let me go?_

But jerking as suddenly as if stung, Kurt lurched to his feet and rushed for the kitchen sink. His breakfast hotly slid up his throat but he swallowed it down, and turned the faucet hot as far as it could go.

" _ **Fuck…! Fucking, fuck, fuck!"**_

He cut himself in his haste to scrub the blade, and the water rushed the blood down the drain. It comingled with Sebastian's on the way out.

He poured half the dish soap on the clue weapon—Blaine at the bar with the knife—and scrubbed furiously under nearing-scouring hot water until his hands stung red. They jerked away from the fire, submerged themselves again as steam wafted sweetly over his face.

At last he pulled the knife out, wrapped it in paper towel, and threw it at the bottom of the garbage can. No—better to hide it in plain sight, as innocent as their other cutlery. He flung over the trash can, extracted the knife, and strode to the wooden knife block on the counter. All slots had been filled.

But one.

Kurt plunged the knife in the slit, grabbed another sponge and washed the handle, threw the sponge away. He hovered there dreamily, not thinking in words, and after either a very short or very long period of time wandered away. He found himself standing in front of the large baroque mirror, framed by cherubim.

He looked at himself and the ghostly figure gazed back. It did it better.

He wearily ran a red hand through his hair. It struck him that he didn't look as nearly as hunted as he felt, which was some relief. The last thing he needed was for Mercedes and the others to have their pity steadily evolve into scrutiny, and—

Then, as if he'd planned it all along, Kurt grasped the frame, grunting under its weight as he struggled to heave the mirror off the nails. But at last it slipped free, steady in his arms for a few precious fractions before the weight invariably caused the mirror to tip. Alarmed, Kurt attempted to wrap his arms around it, but it fell and smashed onto the floor, promptly shattering into pieces. It ended with a bang and Kurt let out a whimper as he slowly knelt about the ruined glass and the powder.

The bathroom door slammed open from quite a long distance away, and the sound of pounding feet echoed in the hall. Naked and dripping, Blaine sounded near-hysterical now— _what was he saying?—_ as he tugged Kurt back to his feet, his sweet voice still frightened. Dazed, Kurt contemplated the thousands of Blaine's reflections scattered on the floor, and his own second, pale face he wasn't aware he had in a particularly large fragment.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry—"_

Blaine tentatively guided him away from the tangle-wreck and he stumbled obediently after. _Seven years bad luck._ It would in all likelihood very well last the rest of his life.

He was guided into a kitchen chair—Blaine held up a hand to stay him as if concerned Kurt had any feeling left in his legs. Soon after a mug of strong, sweet tea had been pressed into his hands, and he contemplated his wavering reflection once again in the passionfruit's dark red depths. A second later Kurt gulped it down, throat a liquid line of fire.

He started when Blaine silently embraced him from behind. "Shhh," Blaine murmured in his hair. "I know, I know. It's okay."

 _No, you don't. And no, it's not. It's really not_.

"Baby, I don't think you can deal with this right now." His dark warm eyes bore into Kurt's lifeless ones. "You're exhausted as is. If you don't want to head over to Mercedes's place, we don't _have_ to." He tucked a strand of Kurt's hair behind his ear. "I'll just tell the others you're sick to your stomach."

 _Well, that's not a lie._

When Kurt still remained unresponsive, Blaine sighed and scooped him up, eliciting a squawk. Kurt indignantly batted and kicked until he dropped to one foot, but the sweetness of the gesture caused two fat tears to fall just the same.

"I'm—thank you, but I'm fine." He took Blaine's hand in his own, as much to steady himself as to comfort. "I think we should go—I won't be able to sleep anyway, and I'll just stew in guilt if I don't do _something_." That being said, he was fairly certain his feet were steadily spreading roots beneath their floor. "I'll feel better by getting some fresh air. And seeing the others." He smiled faintly. "I'm not saying it's not gonna suck, but that it's the better alternative."

Blaine looked at him soberly for a long moment, and it was all Kurt could do not to squirm.

"….if that's what you need. But the second you start feeling like you can't take it anymore, we're grabbing a taxi. And some Thai. Oh," he said stupidly, managing a sheepish smile of his own. "You still get to decide…about takeout…"

"I'm feeling magnanimous today," Kurt murmured, and Blaine beamed at him. He stomach re-tied itself into an octo-knot. "You can pick. Afterward…"

"We'll find something to do. This city was made for doing. Whatever you want."

"Well, I know I don't feel like visiting any clubs for awhile."

"A park. A show. Ice-skating. All of these things. All the things. You can pick. We could go rob a gas station dressed in clown costumes if you like. You'd make clown couture work."

"Holding up a gas station. Clown couture. You're all things romantic and flattery, Blaine Anderson."

"I try. Just not as much as you deserve." Kurt said nothing to that. Blaine bowed his head and gripped Kurt's shoulders tightly.

"But whatever happens, I just want you to know I'm always in your corner. I know I can't take a fifth of the shitstorm you must be going through right now, but I would if I could." He kissed away a stray tear Kurt hadn't realized was falling.

"…you too." He sucked in a deep breath. "I just want you to know that however much this hurts, nothing I ever experienced with Sebastian or anyone else could compare to what I have with you. _Thank you."_

"That's my line," said Blaine quietly, and not a second later he was straddling Kurt, lips on his. Kurt's back bumped against the wall.

The kisses were light and sweet like summer rain, though Kurt clutched Blaine so tightly it must have been painful. His eyes dimly flickered over to the mug on the table, something Blaine had insisted on an ill-fated tour in a chocolate factory in New York that culminated in a lifelong ban.

It would be time to go soon, but that was a little later on. He considered what Sebastian's mangled form must've looked like, crumpled on the asphalt in a pool of what looked like tar. For a moment a slightly-mortified Kurt stood over the shell, completely expressionless.

But that soon dissolved like a drop of paint in an enormous pool of water in the face of Blaine whispering a mantra of _"I love you, I love you, I love you"_ and that was more substantial than Sebastian's corpse would ever be. Soon enough it would be disintegrating ashes, and then only an idea. A vague concept when Blaine was Blaine, his heartbeat pattering against Kurt's own breast.

He closed his eyes. It was amazing how matter-of-fact he'd become in just a few precious moments; Sebastian was murdered, and Blaine in all probability had something to do with it. That was all.

The two savored their simple embrace, at each other's home, wherein they returned to themselves. Kurt blinked. Their home with flowerboxes filled with shoots he'd collected from his mother's garden would be untouched. Blaine would remain here, as he had every right to be, and he'd return to work on Monday and they'd go for a walk later today discussing the abysmal state of the union or an art exhibit contrasting modernist and post-modernist renditions of the human condition.

These things—the smell of home, the warm boy in his arms, the people in the circle they loved whom would soon be smiling and jostling each other again—weren't worth sacrificing for an idea. Even the one wherein Alek—Alek, not Blaine—struck again, and Kurt by his complicity might as well be bringing the knife down with him.

The two pulled back, and with a sigh Blaine got up and the two trudged to the bedroom to dress. Kurt watched Blaine's retreating back, turned his walk to a stride.

It was an awful thought, worse still by the fact that Kurt damn well _knew_ he was terrible and didn't intend to do anything about it. Blaine needed protecting—the idea didn't strike him as ironic at all—and if he had to sacrifice his own peace of mind for the only man in the world worth having, so be it.

That being said, Kurt felt the eyes of their multifaceted reflections follow them as they descended down the subway steps, hands held.

They did never avert their stare, as if watching God, but to have Blaine's hand with him as they waited in the dark made it a fair accompli. Even if Kurt looked at Blaine the whole while, wondering if he were in fact a bomb about to go off.

Perhaps. He'd stand over it until it did.


End file.
